


using all my breath

by flowersforgraves



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Order 66, POV Second Person, Rape, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 18:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14526903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Krell's awfulness is caught before he causes the Umbara disaster, but that doesn't mean Cody's okay with what happened to him. Cody copes (sort of) with what Krell did to him, with the chip in his head, and his guilt and self hatred.





	using all my breath

“Spread your legs,” General Kenobi tells you. You flinch, but you comply. You strip off your shirt and set yourself up in the position Krell liked.

General Kenobi watches you with a furrowed brow. Maybe he doesn’t like it the same way Krell did? But he doesn’t tell you to stop, so you get ready to finger yourself open. If you’d known this was going to happen, you would have done this already. But since you were completely blindsided (you’d dared to hope that you wouldn’t ever have to do this again), you weren’t prepared either emotionally or physically.

You lock your emotions down hard, unsure how the General wants this to go. If you need to play the part of unwilling victim, that won’t be hard. If you need to play the passionate lover, you can do that too. 

“Cody,” he says softly.

“Sir,” you say, voice muffled by the bedsheet.

“Cody, all I want to do is put cream on your burns,” he tells you.

 _Oh._ You feel your face burning with shame. “Sir?”

“Stay there,” General Kenobi orders. “You shouldn’t be moving around so much. Those look like they hurt,” he adds, ghosting his fingers over the bandages on your inner thigh.

“Sir,” you say again, because you’re not really sure what to do. 

You feel him unwrap the bandages and smear cold cream all over the burns. His gentle touch is a stark contrast to the last time you were in this position, when Krell -- _no._ You’re not going to think about that now.

When General Kenobi finishes, he carefully reapplies the bandages, and tells you to stand up. You do, eyes downcast. “Thank you, sir,” you say sincerely.

“Why did you…” General Kenobi gestures at the bed.

You flush red again. “Last time, that was what he wanted,” you say, and _kriff_ that’s too much, you’re not allowed to tell anyone what Krell did to you, you’re not allowed to care, you’re just a clone, and you don’t count.

Before he can say anything else, you flee the room as fast as your painfully burned leg will let you.

That night, you dream about Krell for the first time in months. About being held down, being helpless to stop what he wanted to do to you. About how you didn’t fight it, because you’re just a clone. About how you didn’t deserve to have a choice. About how you’re worthless, an expendable pawn on the gameboard, and the fact that you even resent what happened makes you flawed.

You wake up shaking, your face wet with tears.

-

You keep your emotions locked down tight when you meet General Kenobi in the briefing room. You focus hard on the meeting, trying to ignore his eyes on you. Afterward, he catches your arm. You try not to flinch when he touches you, but don’t entirely succeed.

“Cody. A word?”

You nod mutely, giving what you hope is a reassuring smile to Rex in response to his concerned glance. You follow General Kenobi to the table, and he puts his hand on your shoulder. 

“About last night,” he says. You almost pull away from his hand, but stop yourself just in time. “Do you want to tell me what happened there?”

“No,” you say truthfully.

General Kenobi sighs. “Let me rephrase that. Would you please tell me what happened?”

“No,” you repeat. “Can’t.”

He frowns at that. “What do you mean, ‘can’t’?”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” you say. “He told me not to tell anyone.”

General Kenobi’s face becomes unreadable for a moment. “Who is ‘he’?”

“Can’t,” you say again. “Not supposed to tell anyone. ‘M not even supposed to have said this much.”

His brow furrows again, and he squeezes your shoulder. “Cody. I need to know.”

You can feel the pressure of the Force from your general on your mind. You want to tell him, you don’t like keeping things from him. You open your mouth to say so, but you say, “I’m not allowed to,” instead.

You remember when you tried to tell Wolffe. When you tried to warn him. How you physically couldn’t speak, how you only got “Be careful” out before the geas (this is a lovely word, one that Bly had come up with after some digging through history files on binding techniques) Krell put on you prevented you from saying anything more.

In the here and now, your general looks at you with worry. 

“Cody, please,” he says, perilously close to begging. “Just tell me, did you want it?”

“No,” you say, before you can stop yourself. _No no no no no,_ you think, because now he’s going to question you further. You can feel your heart racing, and you grip the table tightly to keep from losing your balance.

“Oh, Cody,” he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you say shortly. His hand is still on you, and his thumb is rubbing gentle circles over the join between neck and shoulder. 

“May I go?” you ask, because you don’t want to deal with this anymore, and you’ve got things to do.

General Kenobi looks at you for a long time. 

“Yes,” he says finally. “Of course, Cody.”

Outside the room you remove your bucket, feeling suffocated, and tip your head back against the wall. You force a deep breath, and bite your lip to ground yourself with pain. You’re ashamed, honestly, that you’ve been unable to control yourself. You’re practically famous for your poker face, so why can’t you just keep your kriffing mouth shut and accept what happened?

You jam your bucket back over your head to hide your face, and head to your assigned duties.

-

Weeks later, when Krell comes to the Negotiator along with several other generals -- Plo Koon, Depa Billaba, Aayla Secura, and Mace Windu, among others -- you can’t entirely conceal your worry from your general. You play it off as security concerns, but he’s not convinced.

You plan to make yourself visible to Krell as soon as he gets on board, in hopes that he’ll turn to you if he wants anything instead of any of your brothers. You make sure you’re greeting every ship that drops off a general, bucket tucked under your arm. When Krell docks, you can’t help the spike of anxiety you feel. 

Krell’s disgusting mouth spreads into a grin when he sees you. As he slowly, ponderously makes his way down the gangplank, he does his best to catch your eye. You don’t give him the satisfaction of showing your fear on your face, and you remain in place, eyes fixed on a point above his shoulder. The Jedi leans in when he gets to you, and whispers, “My quarters. 1900 hours. Don’t be late.”

You hide the relief that he hasn’t chosen anyone else by not bothering to conceal your fear. “Yes, sir,” you say, but he’s already past you, and General Kenobi is greeting him and sending Boil to show him to his quarters.

-

When the time comes, you excuse yourself from your fellow commanders and head to Krell’s quarters as you’d been instructed. You’re so nervous you nearly have to stop and retch in a refresher, but you manage to calm yourself down with the thought of _at least it’s just me._

You knock on the door, announcing, “Sir? 2224 to see you.” 

Krell opens the door. He’s shorter than you remember, but then again, you were as shiny as they come last time you did this. “Yes, come in, 2224. Or should I call you Cody?”

You can’t suppress the revulsion you feel at that statement. 

“Cody it is, then,” he says, smiling. “Strip, Cody. Slowly. I want to watch you.”

You remove your bucket at a snail’s pace, and start undoing your armor. When you’re down to just your blacks, Krell grabs your arm and drags you close. He slides one of his hands down to your crotch, squeezing painfully. “Are you letting Kenobi fuck you?”

“No, sir,” you say.

“Good,” he tells you. “You’re only going to spread your legs for me.”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

“You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you, Cody? No tricks?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, because there’s nothing else to do.

“Good,” he says smugly, and caresses your face with another hand. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “Good boy.”

You want so badly to kick out, to fight, but you can’t, you deserve this, it’s just another part of your job. So you don’t fight it, you just let him feel you up. You force yourself to start removing your undersuit, peeling it away from your shoulders, arms, chest…

Krell likes watching, you remember. So you make a show of it, when you pull away from him to get your undersuit off your legs. He appreciates it, licking his lips, fingers twitching like he wants to grab you and fuck you right then and there. “Good boy,” he says again, sending a chill down your spine. 

When Krell is finished playing around with you, he tells you to open your legs for him. 

“Come on, Cody,” he says. “Be good for me.”

You bite your lip and set yourself up in the position he likes: half off the bed, legs open, face down, arms spread. You can hear his sigh of satisfaction as you do so, and then there’s a thick finger pushing into you, and you let yourself float away.

-

The next thing you really comprehend is the knock on the door.

Krell swears, pulls out of you, and leaves you there on the bed, biting down on the bed sheet to keep from making noise. He answers the door -- you’re not sure if he’s still naked or not -- and you can hear one of your brothers say, “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I’m looking for Co-- uh, Commander 2224.”

You want to cry out, tell whoever it is to run, to get away before Krell sucks them in too. But you can’t, you’re still frozen there, your legs hurting. You hear Krell respond: “Sorry, trooper. I haven’t seen him.”

“Thank you, sir,” says the clone, and the door shuts. 

Krell comes back, doesn’t bother to prep you again, just pushes his cock into your ass, and you can’t stop the soft pained noise that escapes you. 

Krell fucks you hard and fast until he comes (again? You can’t tell how many times he’s done this already, considering how out of it you were until the door rang), then tells you to stand up. You do, legs shaking, and pull on your undersuit.

“General Kenobi is to know nothing about this.” Krell folds one set of arms over his chest and uses the other to grab you by the throat. “Do you hear me, Cody? Nothing.”

“Yes, sir,” you choke out, keeping your eyes down to show your acquiescence until he releases you to put on your armor.

You hurry to the briefing room, still shaking, and open the door.

“Ah, Cody,” General Kenobi says. “Where have you been?”

You can’t bear to look him in the eye, even through your bucket, and so you look down without moving your head and say, “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.”

General Kenobi nods after a brief pause. “Alright. Let’s get to work.”

-

Afterward, as you’re making to leave, General Kenobi calls out, “Cody! Stay here.”

You freeze. “Yes, sir,” you say. “I’m sorry about being late, sir.”

“I need you to be on your game, Cody,” he says. “I need you sharp. We’re building an offensive here for the first time in a while, and I can’t afford you to be distracted.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say again. 

“Stop apologizing!” General Kenobi snaps. 

You try not to flinch, and don’t entirely succeed. “Yes, sir.”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Cody. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’m… frustrated with the lack of progress we’re making here.”

You don’t quite nod. “Yes, sir.” You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, that anything’s wrong, because you know that General Kenobi will take it upon himself to investigate. And if that happens, Krell will punish you, and you _really_ don’t want that.

He turns to face you. “I need you now more than ever, Cody. I know you won’t let me down.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. There’s an awkward pause before you remember that you need to say something else. “I’ll do my best, sir,” you say.

“Is something wrong?” General Kenobi asks, brow furrowed.

“No, sir,” you say. “I was just thinking and got distracted. I’m sorry, sir.” You don’t tell him it won’t happen again, even though you know you should.

He looks skeptical. “If you’re sure,” he says, and then, “You’re dismissed.”

You salute, and head out. Maybe Wolffe and Bly will be awake to curl up with before Krell wants you to service him again.

-

You return to the shared commanders’ quarters still shaking. Wolffe is awake, reading something that has presumably been given to him by General Plo.

“Hey, Cody,” he says. “What was going on with that sudden departure?”

You shake your head, not trusting your voice. Instead of speaking you just set your bucket down, strip off your armor, and climb into Wolffe’s lap.

“Codes? Is something wrong?” He puts down the pad, hands automatically coming up to smooth down your back. You hunch your shoulders, trying to make yourself smaller, to feel encased in your batchmate’s embrace. 

“Cody,” he says again, “talk to me.”

“Can’t,” you murmur, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It’s the thing I can’t talk about again.”

“Aw, vod,” Wolffe says. He brings a hand to the back of your head, holding you the way he had when you were cadets, when this had happened the first time. “What do you need from me?”

“Dunno,” you say, curling tighter against him. “This is good.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’m here, I’m not gonna go anywhere, alright?”

“Okay,” you agree.

He tugs at the zipper of your blacks. “You want this off?” It’s not a request; physical comfort is generally supposed to happen with as much direct skin to skin contact as possible. It’s an unspoken clone rule, just like the one that says _don’t speak Our language in front of outsiders_ or the one that says _you have to eat everything on your plate_.

You don’t – don’t want to see the marks Krell left, don’t want to think about your own body right now. But the alternative is having Wolffe strip you unwillingly, and you don’t think you could deal with that. So you nod, and let him help you out of your undersuit, and ignore when his fingers pause over bruises.

“I can’t believe you’re already having sex,” he teases. “I mean, we haven’t even been here a full day!”

You smile and try to laugh. “Yeah, I guess I get around,” you say, but there’s no emotion behind it.

Once you’re down to just synth-briefs, you actually do start to feel better. Wolffe’s warm strength is reassuring, and you press close against him. “Sorry,” you say. 

“Don’t worry about it, vod,” he tells you. 

-

Krell summons you once a day for the next week. He hits you – backhands across your face, his belt snapping down across your back.You start flinching almost imperceptibly when anyone makes sudden moves toward you. He leaves bruises, bite marks, and cuts on your back and thighs from his nails. 

You do exactly as he says. You’re too scared to do anything else.

If you can prevent someone else from having to do this – keep Wolffe or Bly or any trooper safe from Krell’s power play – then you’re going to do it. You know you should be grateful that Krell picked you to be his plaything, because it’s an honor to be a Jedi’s, in the way that you would willingly be General Kenobi’s, or the way Bly would love to be General Secura’s. But you can’t bring yourself to be anything other than terrified, tired, and sad.

-

When General Kenobi walks into the locker room while you’re shirtless, you try not to react. But it’s hard, because he’s going to notice the marks Krell likes to leave on you and maybe question it. You’ve got finger-shaped bruises on your hips and shoulders, bite marks on your ribs and collarbone, half-healed welts on your back. General Kenobi’s seen you shirtless before, and knows where all your scars should be.

As you expected, he frowns at you, but thankfully doesn’t say a word about it. He just says, “I’m going to need all of you --” sweeping his arm around to take in you, Wolffe, Bly, Ponds, and everyone else in the locker room “-- in the briefing room as soon as possible.”

You nod in acknowledgement, and a ragged chorus of “yes, General” follows him as he leaves.

When you manage to get to the briefing room before any other clone, you pause outside for a moment, listening. 

“...Mace, you should have seen him. It was like he’d been in an animal attack. Bitemarks, cuts, bruises, the whole nine yards.”

General Kenobi. Presumably talking about you?

“Obi-wan, you know that odds are that he’s just into some… unusual things, and with all of us here, it’s more likely that his lover would be here too.”

General Windu. Sounding very reasonable too. You decide to push through the fear and enter the room.

“Sirs,” you say as you open the door.

“Ah, Cody,” General Kenobi says. “Come here.”

You follow him to the corner. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

“Is everything alright?” he asks quietly. “I saw -- in the locker room, I saw you had some… injuries.”

“Everything is fine, sir,” you lie smoothly. “I’m alright.” The lie trips easily off your tongue, familiar and all too quick. 

General Kenobi still looks skeptical, but acquiesces, returning his attention to the task at hand. “If you say so.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, and you return to the center table, where the other generals and commanders are gathering.

-

As the conference drags on, and Krell keeps cornering you to give you times to visit his quarters, you retreat more and more into yourself. You stop talking of your own volition, stop making jokes around anyone other than your brothers, just try to make yourself smaller and non-threatening so Krell won’t hurt you any more than he already has.

You’re servicing him as well as you can, because if you do a good job, that means someone else will be spared this. But you’re not sure how long you can keep going, keep putting up a front for General Kenobi, when you’re being used like this in secret.

Things go badly one night, and Krell storms into the room you’re sharing with the other commanders, and orders everyone but you out.

Wolffe wiggles his eyebrows, Bly laughs quietly at something Ponds says to him, and you can’t breathe, can’t get past the awful tightness in your chest, can’t get enough air. You know you’re going to start hyperventilating soon if you can’t get this under control, and Krell won’t care if you’re conscious or not when he fucks you (which you know, because he’s done it both ways).

You strip out of your blacks, keeping your eyes down, hoping against hope that he doesn’t want to hurt you too badly.

Krell slams you against the bulkhead. “Don’t you dare make a sound,” he snarls. 

Your breath comes hard and fast, rasping in your throat. You nod, trying to calm down, but realize you’re not going to be able to keep quiet unless you can get some time to focus on it.

He solves this by shoving you to your knees and opening his pants. 

“Suck,” he orders, and you open your mouth and take him in. He’s gripping your hair painfully hard, and you can’t stop the soft noise of pain that slips out. 

His cock hits the back of your throat, and you gag, but he doesn’t give you a break. He keeps pulling on your hair, moving you back and forth, and you’re half sobbing, trying to breathe and not vomit.

Krell tenses and comes, holding your head between his legs. You swallow and swallow, trying to keep it down. He finally releases you, and you lean back on your heels, breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself down.

It’s not even thirty seconds later that he grabs your hair again, this time dragging you to a standing position. He holds you against the wall, and starts jerking you off with short, sharp strokes that hurt. You panic a little, and try to push back against him, but he’s stronger than you, and he keeps playing with you like you’re one of those blow-up sex dolls.

You don’t want to come, you aren’t turned on, you can’t breathe properly, but he won’t stop, and you feel yourself getting to the edge. The last time he’d bothered to get you off had been a prelude to being held immobile while you sobbed and begged him not to hurt you, so you’re dreading what will happen next. You slam your head back against the wall, trying to make yourself stop, but you come anyway.

“Good boy,” he mutters, and digs one set of fingers into your hips like he’s trying to hurt you. The other hands come up, one around your throat, the other fisted in your hair to keep you still. You shut your eyes as he releases your hips to prepare you to take him.

You can’t force yourself to that floating place anymore. Everything seems in sharp relief, and you can feel everything from the pounding of blood in your veins to the texture of the wall behind you. 

“Please,” you gasp, as he shoves a thick finger into you.

“I said be quiet,” Krell practically yells, and digs his teeth into your shoulder. You grit your teeth and try to bite back the groan of pain.

He tries to force a second finger in you, and you go limp and let him hold you there, because it’s easier to just let him take what he wants. It’ll be over faster that way.

There’s a knock at the door, and you’re not really sure if you’re hearing things or if it’s real. You almost call out, but remember Krell’s admonition to be quiet, so you bite your lower lip and say nothing.

The door opens. Krell leans in close, you can smell his breath, and whispers, “Not. A. Sound.” You’re too scared to even nod, so you just stay there, frozen in place, his fingers still in you.

“Cody?” That’s General Kenobi’s voice, and your heart leaps. Maybe he’s figured it out. But then again, there’s going to be hell to pay if that’s true, so maybe not.

 _Kriff._ You try to call out, but there’s some Force construction keeping you from making any sound. You’re starting to panic, to hyperventilate, and you watch helplessly as General Kenobi turns on the light, and _kriff_ there’s no way he won’t see this, see you held up against the wall, see Krell fucking you.

His eyes go wide when he sees.

Krell pulls out of you, lets you fall to the floor, and you draw in a horrible, rasping breath. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Krell asks, all belligerence and bravado.

General Kenobi looks from you to Krell incredulously. “Me? I think that question would be better directed at _you_.”

Krell looks down at you. “What did you tell him? How did you get around the block?” He reaches out for your hair again, and you push yourself closer against the wall to try and get away.

You shake your head, still breathing hard. You can’t speak, but you can try to convince him that this isn’t your fault.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” General Kenobi says. “I was looking for him, and someone told me you had wanted to see him privately in here.”

Krell kicks you in the side. 

“Don’t defend him,” he says to your general. “He’s just a clone. You can always get a new one.”

You’re too inured to that attitude to react to it. But General Kenobi’s eyes narrow, like he’s angry on your behalf. 

“Step away from my commander,” he says, in that dangerously calm tone he uses when he’s facing someone like Ventress.

Krell puffs out his chest and looms over your general. 

“Sir,” you manage to say, “please don’t, it’s alright, I’m fine.”

“Be quiet, Cody,” he says. “Go find Wolffe.”

You don’t move. The blood sliding down the inside of your thighs is warm and sticky, and you know moving is only going to make it worse.

“Don’t move,” Krell orders you, and then, to your general, “I’m perfectly willing to share, if that’s what your concern is.”

That, apparently, is the final straw. General Kenobi steps forward. “Get. Out.”

Krell frowns. “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck him? I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s good on his knees, I can tell you that.”

“I said get out,” General Kenobi says. “Don’t make me resort to force.”

Krell picks up his robes, and starts towards the door. “Ah, I understand perfectly --”

“Go straight to your quarters and don’t leave until I personally come for you,” General Kenobi snaps, interrupting him. 

You’ve never seen your general like this before, cold and hard and angry, and you’re finding it a little hard to believe this is all because of what’s been happening to you. It’s surreal, honestly, and you’re pretty sure that you’ll wake up from this dream sometime soon. 

Krell leaves, and General Kenobi says something into his wrist comm, and then he’s over at your side, brushing his thumb over your bruised lips. 

“Oh, Cody,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you protest. “I’m alright, sir, it’s not a big deal, he didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for.”

“ _Nobody_ asks for this,” General Kenobi says harshly, and you flinch from the anger in his voice.

He immediately softens when he sees your reaction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I promise I won’t hurt you, I will never hurt you like he did.”

And that’s it, that’s what does it, and you start crying again, and Wolffe and Bly and Ponds finally push through the door, and you hear the sharp intake of breath from Bly as he sees how much you were hurt, and see the pain in Wolffe’s good eye when he realizes that the teasing about the “lovemarks” you’d acquired since the conference began was perhaps less than sensitive.

General Kenobi orders someone to get help and for someone else to set a guard on Krell’s door, and you hold onto his shirt tightly. He pulls you close, rubs your back, and slowly you stop crying, breath hitching and heart pounding. 

“Listen, Cody,” he says, “Once you’re doing better, I’m going to have to know what happened.”

You nod. “Yes, sir,” you say shakily. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologize,” Wolffe says. “You’re not the one at fault here, Codes.”

General Kenobi releases you, and Helix the medic comes in to help you stop the bleeding, and you stumble into Wolffe’s arms. He holds you, pets your hair, tells you, “Shhh, vod’ika, you’re safe now, I won’t let him come back here to hurt you, shhh, you’re alright, Cod’ika.”

You bury your face in Wolffe’s shoulder, and let him comfort you.

-

Weeks later, most of your bruises and cuts are healed, and you’re standing in front of the Jedi Council to testify to what Krell did to you. You’re under a compulsion to tell the truth, and they’ve disabled Krell’s geas so you can speak freely. You wish desperately for Rex or Wolffe, but you’ve got to do this alone.

“Tell us what happened, you will,” General Yoda says.

You keep your face an emotionless mask, but you know the Jedi can sense your confusion and fear. “Would you mind being more specific, sir?”

“When was the first time you had a problem with Master Krell?” General Windu asks. “How did this begin?”

You take a deep breath. 

“On Kamino,” you say. “It was on Kamino, before I was deployed.” 

You watch as surprised murmurs travel around the council chamber. “My batch was taken for individual testing. We each were supposed to spend two days with a Jedi or a trainer, and I got assigned to General Krell.”

You pause, trying to get your thoughts in order. “He pushed me up against the wall. Told me to – to perform oral sex on him. I did it, and then he, um, stimulated me manually, and then he made me drink something that made me tired. I assume it was drugged; my head felt cloudy almost immediately and for several hours afterward. I woke up with a hangover and little memory of what happened, but I was half on a bed, face down, and he had his hands on my hips, and I couldn’t move, I just laid there and he fu- he penetrated me.”

“You can say fuck,” General Plo says. “Don’t worry about formality. It’s nothing any of us haven’t heard before.”

You nod. “Yes, sir. That was how the rest of the time was passed, him… fucking me, mostly, holding me down using the Force. Not that I would have tried to stop him anyway,” you hasten to add. “I mean, I thought it was something I’d have to do to serve any general. Part of my job.” 

You keep your face expressionless, though you can read at least your own general’s face well enough to see disgust. _Damaged goods,_ you think, half-hysterically. _No wonder he didn’t want to fuck me._

You can feel your mask slipping, your walls starting to crack, and General Kenobi says, “Thank you, Cody. You’re dismissed.”

You practically run out of the room and straight into Rex. 

“Hey, vod,” he says. “I, uh, heard from Wolffe about what you’re in there for.”

You want to say something, anything, but your face twists, and your voice doesn’t work, so you grab onto him and hold him tight against your chest. 

“Rexy,” you whisper. “Rex.”

“Hey,” he says, “hey. You’re okay, Cody. You’re safe now.”

You shake your head. That’s not why you’re on the verge of tears right now. You’re not scared for yourself, but for everyone else: for Rex and for Wolffe and for every soldier under Krell’s command. But you can’t communicate that, so you just hold Rex close and pet his short, cropped hair, and let him rub your back. 

“Rex’ika,” you say, after a moment, “did -- did anyone ever hurt you? The way Krell hurt me, I mean.”

“No,” Rex says, muffled against your shoulder, face turned into your neck. “I’m okay, Codes. I promise.”

You stand on your toes to press a kiss to his temple. “Good,” you say. “I need…”

“I know,” Rex says. “Come on.” Still holding his hand, you follow him to his assigned quarters. “I’ve got you. Get under the blankets and I’ll be on the outside this time.”

You strip off your armor, hands shaking, and crawl into Rex’s bed, squeezing against the wall to make room for him. “Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t want you to--”

“Shut up,” Rex says, and climbs in next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and cuddling close. “Just let me do this for you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, finally, and curl up against Rex. Normally, you’re the one doing the comforting, since Rex’s 501st has one of the highest casualty rates of any unit, but today it’s his turn. He pets your hair, rubs your back, sings softly. Slowly, you fall asleep in your favorite little brother’s arms.

-

“You didn’t tell us everything,” General Kenobi says when he slides into the seat across from you at lunch.

“Sir?” you ask, looking up in surprise.

“You’re not telling the Council everything that happened, are you?” he asks. “Cody, we need to know everything.”

“I’m not lying, sir,” you say.

His voice softens a little. “I know. But I need you to tell the whole truth. We need to know just how far he went.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” you tell him. “It’s not affecting his job.”

“Cody,” he says, “it’s not him we’re worried about. We need to know if he’s done this to other people, too. He’s going to be removed from his position. Even if it’s only you he raped, that’s enough for us to get him away from all of you.”

You blink up at him, surprised. “He didn’t rape me, sir.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not a person,” you say. “I can’t be raped.”

He stares. “N-no.”

You tip your head to one side slightly. “I don’t understand, sir,” you say. “I mean, we don’t have civil rights. We’re Republic property. He’s allowed to use us any way he wants.”

“No,” General Kenobi says, but you see the dawning horror in his eyes as he realizes that you’re having trouble conceiving of the fact that you didn’t deserve what Krell did.

“Yes,” you say, and then, “Look, sir, he gets to use me the way he wants, and I don’t get to say no. I know that you wouldn’t do that to me or to anyone else, but it’s not surprising and it’s not something I’d ever protest. The Republic needs us for this, and it’s just part of our job.”

He reaches out for your hand, then thinks better of it when you pull away. “Oh, Cody,” he murmurs. He sounds like he did that night he found Krell fucking you – gentle, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. 

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” you ask.

“Of course,” he says distractedly. 

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m a child. I’m a soldier, sir, and I’ve seen awful things.”

He focuses in on your face, with an uncomfortable level of scrutiny. “How do you mean?”

You swallow hard. “I mean when you say ‘oh Cody’ like I’m scared of you or like I’m a little kid. You don’t have to treat me like a wild animal. It’s kind of insulting that you think I’m not capable of being reasonable or that I’m like a child. I might be your property, but I’m not stupid or incapable.”

He looks hurt for a moment, but covers it quickly. “You’re right, Cody, and I’m sorry. I want to protect you and all the men, and I’m sorry that it comes across as treating you like a child.”

You nod stiffly. “Yes, sir,” you say, but you’re not sure he completely understands.

“As I was trying to say, the point of this is to determine how he’s been misusing his power. We want to know if this problem is isolated or if it’s something we need to be concerned about with the other officers as well.”

You cross your arms over your chestplate. “As far as I’m aware, he’s the only one who would have been able to compel any of us not to talk about it.”

He brings his hand up to his beard in the habitual gesture. “Hmm. Yes, I can see that. We’ll be conducting an investigation regardless.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “I’d like to be kept apprised of the situation as it develops, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” General Kenobi says. “I’ll make sure that’s the case.”

You nod. “Permission to leave, sir?”

“Granted,” he says. “Though I would appreciate you not withholding anything at the session tomorrow.”

“Can’t promise that,” you say, standing up to collect your tray. “Thank you, sir.”

-

You’re curled up with your head in Rex’s lap when he asks, “Was it only you?”

“Wha’?” you say, half asleep. 

“Was it only you who Krell liked to…” Rex trails off, looking down at you.

You blink awake and try to sit up. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I –I never saw anyone else. I can only assume there were others, since I wasn’t there all the time.”

He runs his fingers through your hair. “Yeah,” he says. “That makes sense. I mean, you guys were one of the last to have Jedi trainers. They were being phased out as I was decanted.”

You fall back against him. 

“I don’t know about the troops who served under him. I mean, I worried at first, but then I realized there was nothing I could do about it, you know? So I tried not to think about it.”

He nods. “Cody…”

“Hmm?”

“I know you’re not telling them everything.”

“That’s pretty much what the general said to me after the first session,” you tell him. “Why?”

“Do you want to tell me any of it?” he asks. 

“What do you want to know?” you ask. 

“Any of it,” he says. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

You stay quiet for a moment. “He kept calling me a good boy. Told me I was pretty. Told me to be good for him. That’s where my scar came from.” You reach up to unconsciously trace the curvature of the lines around your eye. “I don’t remember much of it, just that it was hurting, burning like it was fresh when he fucked me. He said it was so I would remember who I belonged to.”

Rex pets your hair. “I’m sorry, Cody.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “It’s pretty much over now. I don’t think Krell will bother with me anymore. He’ll pick a lower profile target. Maybe he’ll switch it up instead of focusing on any one of us.”

“It’s not fine, vod. He hurt you. He made you scared of every Jedi. He made you feel like you have to protect all of us. He made you do things you didn’t want to do.”

“Look, Rex,” you say, propping yourself up on an elbow, “we’re property. He had every right to do whatever he wanted to me, up to and including keeping me as his personal fucktoy.”

Rex frowns down at you. “It shouldn’t be that way,” he says.

You half snort at that. 

“Doesn’t matter what we think. We’re there to die so real people don’t have to. The natural-borns don’t want to do something? Send a clone. We don’t count.”

Rex’s grip on your hair tightens. You draw in a sharp breath, forcibly reminded of the last time Krell had his hands on you. 

“Rex,” you say, voice shaking slightly, “please let go of me.”

He lets go. “Are you alright?”

You press yourself up against the wall, hands flat on the textured surface, breathing slow and steady. “Fine. You just -- don’t pull my hair, okay?”

“Oh,” Rex says. “I-- sorry, I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “I’m alright, I just haven’t been able to fix that reaction yet.” You run a hand through your hair, applying firm pressure to help keep your heart from racing.

“Can I--” Rex starts, reaching out for you. 

You grab his hand. “Yeah,” you say, pulling him close. “I got you, Rex’ika.”

He buries his face in your shoulder, and you hold on tight.

-

As General Kenobi promised, you’re kept apprised of the investigation. Krell seems to have been the only Jedi to have “misused his power,” as the report says, but there are other natural-born officers who have taken advantage of your brothers. 

Now that the Jedi Council has gotten involved in the issue, a lot of natural-born officers are apparently upset with the Jedi, and even more are upset with clones in general and you in particular. You’re upset, angry, and hurt, because your brothers don’t deserve to pay for your mistakes. You don’t want Krell punished for what he did to you. You know you should have been grateful, that you should have been honored to be his plaything. But because you weren’t good enough at hiding, you were weak and worthless and damaged goods, your brothers are facing vitriol and open hatred from natural-born officers.

You steal a bottle of moonshine for yourself, and decide to get blackout drunk.

The investigation is all too quick. Krell is the only one punished. On one hand, you’re glad of it; at least Krell will not be able to inflict pain on any of your brothers. But on the other, you know there are other people out there doing horrible things to your brothers, and you can’t protect them all. You’re also ashamed of yourself for being the cause of all this fuss.

Halfway through the bottle, General Kenobi comes in to see you.

“Cody?”

“Sir!” You stand up as quickly as possible, hiding the bottle behind you. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know,” he says. “Are you -- are you alright?”

You frown slightly. “Yessir. Of course sir.”

He looks skeptical. “Are you sure? Krell sexually assaulted you. That’s not usually something that just goes away.”

“I’m fine,” you say. You don’t correct him about the phrasing. It’s going to be more trouble than it’s worth to explain (again) how you can’t be raped, or assaulted, or whatever he wants to call it, because you don’t _count_. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I want to help you,” he says. “I want to take away your pain, Cody. I can tell you’re hurting and I want to make that stop.”

You push down your surprise and say, “Sir?”

General Kenobi looks sad for a moment before he covers it up. “I know I can’t repair what happened to you. But I can help you process the trauma and hopefully give you coping mechanisms to help you heal.”

“That’s not necessary,” you say. “I’m alright, sir. I promise.” 

“Cody…” He trails off. “You’re not alright. You didn’t ask to be Krell’s plaything, and you didn’t deserve to be hurt like that.”

“I’m alright,” you say again. “It doesn’t matter.” 

And as soon as that’s out of your mouth, you wince, because it’s the wrong thing to say. General Kenobi doesn’t think of you the way he should, the way you deserve, and he’ll just get more concerned if you let on how you think of yourself.

He looks at you, and you can't really read his face. 

“Cody,” he says quietly, “you are worth so much. You did _not_ deserve what Krell did to you. You and your brothers _are_ people. It does matter, and I don't want you to think that you have any responsibility to do anything you don't want to.”

You're probably more drunk than you thought, because you start laughing. 

“Sir,” you say, when you get yourself back under control, “I don't think you understand. _I am your property_. You can do whatever you want with me. The Republic says so, and the Republic decides what we're good for. Krell using me for sex wasn't wrong in anyone's eyes, including mine.”

You feel like you’re watching your general’s heart break right before your eyes, and then he says, “Oh, _Cody_ ,” and you decide _screw it_ and take another long swig from the bottle. He looks upset, like you’ve done something wrong, and you suddenly start doubting yourself.

“Sir,” you say, “I’m sorry.”

He frowns at you. “What for?”

“I shouldn’t have said any of that to you, sir. Should have just kept my mouth shut.” You realize then that you’re kind of out of control, and you’re definitely going to regret things tomorrow - provided you remember them, of course. “Sometimes I wish you had fucked me.”

“What?” General Kenobi looks at you incredulously.

“Never mind,” you say, face heating. “Want some?” You hold out the bottle of rotgut. “It’ll put you to sleep right quick.”

“Ah, no, thank you, Cody,” he says. “Though I think perhaps you’ve had enough.”

“Not yet, sir,” you tell him sunnily, and tip your head back for another drink. “I mean, how else am I going to forget?”

He reaches out to take the bottle from you. You relinquish it reluctantly, and then only because you can’t refuse him anything. 

“Go to bed, Commander,” he tells you. “You’re not yourself.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that when you’re drunk, your barriers down, you’re more genuine than you’ve ever been sober.

-

You’re on Coruscant, on leave, in bed with a pretty bearded ginger human, when you have another inconvenient flashback. 

Your partner tells you how good you look, and then says, “Spread your legs,” and _oh no oh no oh no_ you’re back on Kamino being held down with the Force, you’re back in the communal commanders’ room on the Negotiator with the lights off and Krell’s teeth in your shoulder, you’re back in Krell’s guest quarters with his cock in you and your head pounding.

You don’t say anything. You don’t hit out. You just lay there, silent and shaking, and let your partner do whatever they want. When they ask for something, you give it to them, because you don’t know how to say no. You don’t like bottoming, don’t like submitting to anyone you don’t trust with your life, but that doesn’t matter now. You’re not in bed with the guy you picked up at 79’s any more, you’re in bed with Krell.

They look at you with confusion when you call them sir after they ask your name. 

“I don’t want you to call me sir,” they say, and you don’t know how to respond.

So you apologize, and drop to your knees, and give them oral sex, because that’s something you know how to do even when you’re stuck in this hellish limbo between past and present.

They leave after you’re done. You curl up on the floor, shivering, because you know Krell will be angry if you take the bed without being told. You stay there for hours, until you can make yourself believe that Krell isn’t coming back.

You don’t move until Fox comes to find you.

He doesn’t know what happened to you, doesn’t know what Krell did, only that you were the reason for the investigation. He stares at you, says, “Kriff, Cody, how much did you drink last night?” and laughs in your face when you say, “Not enough.”

He says, “Cody, vod, they won’t sleep with you if you keep being so karking weird,” as you scramble to your feet. He says, “Talk to me, maybe?” as you follow him down the corridor to his room. He says, “Fine, be that way,” and you stay quiet the entire time because you don’t know how to tell him that you wish Krell had kept you as his fucktoy because now you don’t know how to be anything else.

You lay in Fox’s bunk in the Coruscanti Guard quarters, staring blankly at the ceiling, and you don’t say a word for the rest of your leave.

-

You’ve learned over time that if you want to lie to a Jedi, you have to suppress your emotions. So when General Kenobi asks if you’re alright, you resist the urge to laugh and you tell him you’re fine. When he asks you to meet him in his quarters, you panic a little, but nod.

You finger yourself open before you go see him. Even if he doesn’t want to fuck you right away, at least you’ll be prepped more than you ever were for Krell.

You make sure you look good -- clean armor, freshly showered, all of it -- before you head over. It won’t do to have your general disappointed, especially not the first time. Some small part of you, the part Krell hasn’t been able to touch, tells you that you’re being unreasonable, that General Kenobi wouldn’t do that to you, but you’re too far gone into self-hatred and submissiveness to pay attention.

He opens the door for you, and you start stripping your armor off, businesslike. He’s casually dressed, and relaxed in a way you rarely see any more. 

“Cody?” he asks. “What are you doing?”

You stop, fingers wrapped around the zipper of your blacks. 

“What do you mean?” 

All you can think about is the meeting times Krell gave you, the rough sex in his quarters, the pain and anger and disgust you feel for yourself. You realize too late you’re projecting the visceral reaction into the Force, and there’s no way General Kenobi won’t feel it.

“I’m not sure wh -- oh, Cody, dear, no. No, no, I don’t want to have sex with you. I didn’t mean to make you think I wanted to take advantage of you. I’m sorry,” he says, quickly handing you one of his robes.

You look down, ashamed at your lack of control. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say. “I thought you wanted me. I shouldn’t have presumed.”

He looks like you’re holding a knife to his throat. 

“Cody, you need to listen to me.”

“Sir?” you ask.

“You need to understand something. What Krell did to you was unacceptable. I don’t know who made you so convinced of your own worthlessness, but you are a good man. You don’t deserve to be hurt, whether physically or emotionally. And I will _never_ take advantage of you in that way. I don’t want you to be scared of me, or of what I would do to you or your brothers. I want to keep you safe,” he stresses, taking a step forward into your space.

You flinch inadvertently, even though you’re trying to stay still.

He slowly reaches for you. 

“I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, and brace yourself.

He’s gentle at first, a feather-light touch against the join between neck and shoulder. But then he squeezes, and you don’t let yourself panic as he pulls you into a hug. The longer he holds you, the more emotional turmoil you’re going through. Half of you wants nothing more than to stay there forever, wrapped in your general’s arms, warm and safe and with someone you love. The other part of you, however, is terrified, scared of what he could do to you, scared of his power over you, and scared of your own feelings for him. You don’t hug him back. 

“Sir?” you ask after a moment.

“Yes,” he says, face buried in your shoulder.

“So, um, you don’t want to fuck me?”

“No,” he says. “I won’t take advantage of you the way Krell did.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “What can I do for you, sir?”

He releases you from the hug, and you miss the contact almost immediately. 

“I wanted to ask you about sending some of the 212th with the 501st to Umbara. Now that Master Krell has been removed from his position, we need to bolster troops there.”

-

You sit bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. This is another side effect you hadn’t anticipated: having nightmares that leave you even more tired than before you went to sleep. The nightmares only seem to go away when you’re too drunk, drugged, or exhausted to dream, so you’ve been drinking more and more lately. 

However, alcohol has its drawbacks, most notably the hangover the following morning, which you don’t go to see Helix for -- he’ll just tell you to stop drinking, and you already know that’s something you should probably do. But you don’t really see that as an option, because you’re pretty sure sleep is more important than not having a headache.

You wipe your face with a damp washcloth. Now that your heart has stopped pounding, you relish the clear-headed, somewhat-rested feeling you have, but you know it won’t last. Your headache will return (it’s almost omnipresent now, even when you haven’t been drinking), and you’ll get tired again soon.

You dress, finish your paperwork, and run Ghost Company’s battle stations drill for good measure. You won’t give anyone, especially not General Kenobi, a reason to suspect that anything is less than perfect.

-

To your utter surprise, your grand deception – the illusion that everything is fine – doesn’t fall apart. In fact, you’re so immersed in your own lies that you even start to believe it yourself. 

When you finally get enough distance from Krell to feel like you can breathe again and you start paying attention to things besides surviving, you realize that things are getting bad for General Kenobi again.

This has happened before, when things were going poorly during the war, or when things were tense between your general and his former padawan. He stops eating, and you have to coax him to take care of himself. Well, really, you pretty much have to do that all the time, but more so than usual.

Denying himself food or sleep has led to your general nearly passing out in the middle of several meetings – and actually passing out when he tries to stabilize wounded troops in the field. You start bringing him food, sitting next to him wordlessly until he takes a bite. You can’t stop him from setting unreasonable expectations for himself, but you can try to make sure it doesn’t take a toll on the efficiency of the 212th. 

At least, that’s what you tell Wolffe. It’s definitely not because you lo– you’re inordinately fond of General Kenobi, nor because you respect the hell out of him both as a person and as a leader. It’s just that it’s your job to preserve lives, and a general who isn’t on top of things is only going to hurt… well, everything.

You pretend you don’t know that he skips meals. You pretend you don’t know that sometimes he forces himself to throw up. You pretend you don’t know how guilty he feels about your brothers dying.

You don’t think you could handle it if you didn’t pretend, because if he was a clone, you’d have been all over him, touching and holding and petting and pressing soft kisses everywhere exposed. But as it stands, you tap him on the shoulder occasionally, or he grabs your arm (your reaction to which you still haven’t been able to fix; you still flinch and once made a noise that you’re _pretty_ sure nobody heard), and that’s the end of touching between you.

The long and short of it is, he’s hurting. And you want that to stop, but you don’t know how to do that.

-

“Cody?” he asks. 

You look up from your work. He’s so pretty like this – angelic almost – framed by the golden light of the corridor in contrast with the relative darkness of your quarters. 

“Yes, sir?” you say, biting your lip and schooling your face to impassivity.

He smiles, steps all the way in. The door shuts behind him, and you barely register the click of the lock before he’s speaking.

“I’ve been as obvious as I dare, but you don’t seem to have gotten the hint.” He paces three steps off to one side before turning sharply on his heel.

“Excuse me?” You frown (a performance; if you had your way, you wouldn’t show any of your confusion), cross your arms, and stand up. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“I’m going to do something, Cody, and if you want me to stop, you say so, okay?” He looks serious, earnest and eager. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you want to stop.”

“Yes, sir,” you say reflexively, before realizing you aren’t sure what you just agreed to.

And then he’s kissing you, he’s in your space and he’s _kissing you_ , General Kenobi is kissing you. You don’t know how to respond; you’re frozen in shock for a moment because this can’t be happening, can’t possibly be real.

His mouth moves over yours, lips soft and warm. You’ve never been kissed like this, gentle and loving, and you can’t get enough. You tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him close. 

“Sir,” you breathe, and he says, “No, Obi-wan,” and you smile into his kiss and say his name, again and again. Obi-wan, Obi-wan, Obi-wan.

He pulls away enough to look you in the eye. “Did Krell ever hit you in the face?”

“He gave me that scar,” you say, “but never anything else.”

Then your general’s pressing butterfly kisses to the scar around your eye, across your forehead, and down to your cheekbone. 

“I’m going to kiss everything away,” he promises. “You tell me where he touched you, and I’ll kiss you there.”

You don’t turn red easily, but this makes you blush. 

“Thank you,” you say, and bring a hand up to your throat. “He tried to choke me, to keep me quiet.”

His beard tickles. His mouth is magical, and maybe he’s using the Force, because wherever he kisses you, the skin there tingles and you feel clean in a way you didn’t before. 

When he presses the final kiss to the hollow of your throat, he looks up at you and asks, “Where else?”

You press your fingers into the last vestiges of the bruises Krell left on your ribs. 

“On my back too,” you tell him. “He drew blood there once or twice.”

“Oh, Cody,” he says, and sets to work on your ribs. When he’s done in front, you turn for him willingly, and let him kiss all over your back, down your spine and back up. 

“Turn over,” he tells you.

You do as he says, thinking nothing of it. 

“He didn’t blow me,” you say as he makes a line down your stomach, trailing kisses down to the base of your dick. “I did that for him.”

He shushes you, and gently pushes your knees apart. 

“We can save that for another time,” he says, and you feel a thrill in your chest, because that means he wants you, wants to keep doing this.

But you don’t say that, just “Okay,” and reach out for his hair. 

He catches your hand before you get to him. 

“I promise you’ll like it better with me,” he says, and that’s when you start to worry. 

“I don’t--” you start, unsure how to tell him you don’t think you can let him fuck you without panicking.

He smiles. “It’s alright, Cody. Just let me take care of you.”

You feel your muscles start to relax involuntarily. He’s definitely using the Force now, trying to soothe you into calm. When he slides a slick finger into you, you don’t protest.

“Shh,” he says. “It’s only me. I won’t hurt you,” he promises.

“Please,” you say, and kriff, your throat is tight like you’re going to cry, and all you can say is “Please,” again.

“Please what,” he says, teasing. 

You don’t want to take that smile off his face, so you swallow hard, and try to say “please fuck me,” but all that comes out is “Please,” yet again. “Please.”

He slips another finger in you. 

“Use your words, Cody,” he says lightly. “Otherwise I’ll just have to have my wicked way with you.”

“Please,” you say, “please don’t,” because you can’t do this – not now – and he cuts you off with a kiss. 

“I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen,” he says, still smiling. “Now, tell me what you want.”

“Please,” you beg, and yeah, there are tears welling up, and he doesn’t stop, and he sticks another finger in you. “Please don’t, sir, please, you’re hurting me--”

“Shut up,” he says, and his voice is different, and he leans over you and it’s Krell, it’s _Krell,_ and he laughs, and your tears spill over and he pulls his fingers out and pushes his cock in.

He fucks you hard and fast, and you’re crying the whole time, because _kriffing hell_ you’re letting him do this to you again and you don’t want it, you don’t want him, you thought you were safe now that he’s gone. 

You wake up to the sound of your own muffled screaming.

-

Fives’ death hits Rex hard. You hold your little brother, rock him back and forth, tell him, “Shh, Rex’ika, shh, I know, I know. You’re going to be alright, you can get through this, I’m here for you.” He weeps quietly into your blacks, and you comfort him the only way you know how.

When he finally cries himself to sleep, you carry him to your bunk, away from your brothers, and press a kiss to his forehead before covering him with a blanket and rubbing his back until you fall asleep too.

Waxer and Boil stand guard outside your quarters until you wake up, for which you’re grateful. You’re not sure Rex can handle questions and high pressure situations right now.

You’re lucky in that you haven’t had any of your closest brothers literally die in your arms, so you don’t know exactly how Rex is feeling. What you do know, however, is how karking awful it feels to lose something vital to your sense of self. In your case, it’s self-confidence. In Rex’s, it’s the rightness of the Republic’s cause. You hold onto Rex’s hand, and let him press close against you.

“Cody,” he says, voice sounding very small, “what if Fives was right?”

You don’t know how to reply to that without either invalidating his feelings or speaking ill of the dead. So you just press a kiss to Rex’s forehead and tell him, “Take care of yourself, vod’ika. Take care of you first, then we’ll worry about what Fives had to say.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and you can feel him pulling away from you emotionally.

You know you’ve said the wrong thing, but you don’t know what the right thing was, so you rest your cheek on his head and think longingly of the alcohol stuffed under your bunk.

You’ll drink yourself to sleep tonight, after the 501st departs for their next assignment.

-

On Utapau, you can feel the tension everywhere, from everyone, as if you’re all caught up in this web of fear that no one knows the source of. Something is going to happen, you can feel it, like some brothers can feel rain coming in old injuries.

You hand your general his lightsaber (he's dropped it _yet again_ and you wonder how in the universe he managed before you were around to help out), and wish him luck, and then you turn back to the battle. You're determined to ignore the awful dread coiled in your throat, making you feel like you’re going to be sick. But it gets harder, as you continue to direct the battle, because the Bad Thing you can feel coming is getting closer.

The comm beeps. You pull out the holographic unit and open it to see the Chancellor Palpatine standing there. 

“Chan--” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Commander Cody,” he says, “Execute Order 66.”

You’re confused for a moment. That… doesn’t mean anything. There is no Order 66; all the operations are given code names rather than numbers.

Then it hits. It’s like a knife in your brain, searing hot, and you don’t cry out, and all you can hear is _good soldiers follow orders_ and suddenly you need to watch General Kenobi die a slow, agonizing death. _Traitor, he’s a traitor,_ you hear.

You hear yourself say, “Yes, sir,” and close the comm, and tap your wrist comm to tell the others what to do.

There’s a roaring in your ears – except they’re not your ears anymore, they’re someone else’s, they’re CC-2224’s ears, because Cody is gone and you’re not Cody and you never were, and the part of you that couldn’t give up being Cody is locked away. You hear yourself -- no, you hear _2224_ give the order to fire on General Kenobi, your general, your beautiful, kind, caring general, and you’re screaming inside your own head to stop.

2224 pushes back against you – _good soldiers follow orders_ and _traitor, he’s a traitor_ thundering in your mind. You’re a prisoner inside your own head, watching yourself give orders to kill the man you love. You realize, suddenly, that this is happening everywhere, that _kriff_ they’re going to kill every single Jedi, every single general, every single padawan learner, every single Force-sensitive they can find, and _Fives was right_ and Rex was right and you’re going to do your very best to fight this any way you can.

But it’s too much, too strong, it’s dark and ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) twisted and wrong and it’s feeding on your distrust of Jedi, on your hatred of Krell and what he did to you, on your need to protect your brothers, and you _want_ to make the Jedi hurt for what they did. They used you and ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) your brothers, had created you to die in their war. 

You collapse against the walls 2224 has put up in his–your head, and you let yourself cry.

-

Your temporary assignment puts you in charge of pacifying some of the Outer Rim planets. You don’t appreciate that ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) there are natural-born officers everywhere, and that every single one somehow technically outranks you, but it’s not something that 2224–you would protest -- he’s too deeply controlled by Palpatine -- or that Cody–you would dare to say anything about -- not that he could speak at all, with the amount of control 2224 has had lately.

You stare blankly at your new CO, whose name you haven’t ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) bothered to learn, as she rambles on about the Empire and how wonderful it is. She’s frustrating, both to you and to 2224, because you know what a crock of bantha shit that is, and he’s already too controlled ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) by the chip to need any convincing. 

Your return to Geonosis is, perhaps, unwise. You’re ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) separated from the rest of the former 212th, so no one else here remembers General Kenobi ( _traitor, he’s a traitor_ ) being shot, no one else remembers how you’d given the order to go back for him, to save him. 2224 is angry, remembering that, because he hates General Kenobi ( _traitor, he’s a traitor_ ), and it makes your heart break because your general -- _your_ general -- doesn’t deserve to be hated like this.

Geonosis is a quiet affair; the bugs come peacefully for the most part, and you don’t lose any troopers. Not that 2224 cares ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) too much about them -- they’re not brothers, they’re just natural-borns, and if they don’t care about clones you shouldn’t care about them -- but you remember what General Kenobi ( _traitor, he’s a traitor_ ) used to say about all life being precious. So you force pride into 2224’s voice as he reports to your CO about your successes, and as punishment ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) for defying him, he squeezes his walls around you ever tighter, until you can barely think.

You don’t really try anything after that. Forcing 2224 to do things only ends up with him exerting more control over you. The chip is still active, keeping you ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) compliant and 2224 alive. You wish you’d listened to Rex, to Fives, when they tried to warn you.

-

 _Good soldiers follow orders_ is the mantra that keeps resounding in your-his head. It’s like a bell, sonorous and deep, the way General Plo’s voice is. Was. You hear from CC-3636 that General Plo is dead, gunned down like so many others.

You don’t tell him that you’re not sure General Kenobi ( _traitor, he's a traitor_ ) is dead. You don’t let Cody-you have the satisfaction of getting to speak. 2224-you is the one in charge now, and you squeeze your control tighter.

3636’s eyes look empty, the way yours look when you see yourself in the mirror. Every clone looks like this now, Crys and Boil and Waxer (numbers, they’re numbers just like you and Wolffe) and the others – all dead inside. You don’t laugh at that, even though it sounds like something a shiny would say, because you don’t laugh anymore. You’re not supposed to feel things anymore, and the only reason you still do is because Cody-you hasn’t surrendered yet.

2224-you hates Cody-you with a passion you’re pretty sure is falsely induced. Otherwise, how would you be able to feel it? You only hate the Jedi traitors who murdered your brothers more. It’s a cold hatred, twisting inside you, and you don’t like it. He-you used to feel this way about Krell, though that hatred was always tinged with more than a little fear. You tamp down the hatred, because if you’re fighting yourself you can’t do your job, and you look into 3636’s empty eyes and don’t say a word.

3636 grips your shoulder with one hand and the butt of his blaster with the other. 

“2224,” he says. “We need to talk about CT-7567.”

 _Rex,_ says Cody-you from inside your head. _Rex is alive and he’s free and he’s alright and he’s going to get everything set right._

You snarl wordlessly at Cody-you. You really don’t have time for this, especially since 7567 is one of the last clone officers unaccounted for. You have a sneaking suspicion 7567 might have taken ARC-5555’s accusations too seriously and gotten the chip taken out, but you don’t say anything about that. 

You don’t really talk now. Cody-you prevents that, mostly, because Cody-you is actively working against you, against your brothers, against Emperor Palpatine. You don’t tell anyone about Cody-you, even though you want Cody-you gone and out of your head. 

“3636,” you grind out, “7567 is a traitor.”

3636’s expression doesn’t change. “I know.”

“He needs to be eliminated.”

“Agreed,” 3636 says. “I will approach Tarkin.”

Cody-you screams inside your head, pounding fists against the walls you’ve put up. There’s a constant stream of _Rex Rex Rex Rex_ coming from him, and you do your best to block that out. 

“Good,” you tell 3636. “Keep me posted.”

-

You don’t hear from Wolffe again. 

2224-you assumes that he’s been sent off on some mission, possibly killed in action, but Cody-you hopes that he’s found Rex, and gotten his chip removed. You miss him, miss being close to someone, miss the physical contact you used to be able to look forward to. You collapse in on yourself, lean against the wall 2224 has put up in his-your head to keep you away, and let the despair wash over you.

You get your new assignment soon enough. You’ll be training natural-born stormtroopers on Kamino. This… kriff. It’s humiliating, for one, being ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) demoted to a karking glorified _drill sergeant_ when you used to run an army. For two, they’re not even using clones any more. While on one hand, you respect that and are glad of it (no one deserves this, no one deserves to be used like you and your brothers were), it’s still frustrating to see how the natural-born troopers still think themselves superior to you. You’re not going to let natural-born troopers run roughshod all over you, disrespecting you and your brothers, the legacy of the clones who ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) fought and died for a Republic that had never seen them as people. 

Wherever Wolffe is, you hope he’s free of the chip.

-

You settle into your new life on Kamino slowly. It’s unsettling, to say the least, to work with the Kaminoans. 2224 is just as uneasy ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) about them as you are, which is rare, but since you two share the same distaste for them, it’s marginally easier to get him to listen to you. 

Running makes everything go away for a while. You and 2224 are at a careful ceasefire when you’re running, a fragile peace that nevertheless gives you the opportunity to feel free. The roaring of the chip in your head fades to a manageable buzz, and you can almost think normally again. You sprint around the track, socks almost soundless on the floor. As much as you like how stable your boots make you feel, you don’t like to run in them, because they’re heavy and make too much noise.

Your world narrows to nothing but you and the track. All you can hear is your own ragged breathing, the soft steady thud of your feet on the track. All you can see is the next step, and all you can feel is the need for more, more adrenaline coursing through you, more quiet in your mind, more pain in your legs so you know you’re real. 

2224 is the one who breaks first, forcing you to stop, so that you can recover your breath. The noise of the chip comes rushing back, making you stagger a bit. You take one last breath, a sip of water, and then 2224 reasserts his control over you again. You go back to being just another shadow ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) in the back of 2224’s mind. 

You’re slowly coming to terms with the fact that this isn’t your body anymore.

-

Boil and Waxer show up, separately, in charge of squads of shiny natural-borns. Your heart breaks when they don’t even recognize each other as they pass in the hallways. That means the chip clouds memory ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) as well as directly controlling you, you realize, and you’re not quite sure how that helps except now you know Boil and Waxer won’t remember the good times with General Kenobi ( _traitor, he’s a traitor_ ), so they won’t feel guilty about shooting him down.

You start testing the limits of 2224’s control over his-your body. At first it’s small things, reaching up to adjust your ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) bucket or refasten a piece of your armor. But then once he’s used to you doing that, you do bigger things, clench your fists, dig your nails into your palms or your arm. You like the pain; it helps ground you. And you know that if you’re ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) going to get free of this chip, you’re going to need to lure 2224 into a false sense of security.

So you self-injure in small ways throughout the day. You do one extra lap around the track when training. You bite your lip hard enough to ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) draw blood. You “accidentally” let your knife slip when you’re cutting something. You can force 2224 to do this, but it takes a lot of effort, so you only push it when you think you can handle the mental stress. 

2224 ignores it, for the most part. He doesn’t like it, but it keeps you happy, so he tolerates it. You allow yourself a small thrill of victory for every drop of your own blood shed, because it’s easier to celebrate that than to dwell on the blood of others that you watch yourself spill ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ). Kamino brings back difficult memories, and you’re all too aware that 2224 is doing his best to make the natural-borns’ experience just as hellish as yours was.

When one of the natural-born shinies comes to you in tears, both you and 2224 want to yell. 2224 is ashamed that these natural-born troopers are so weak and inferior to clones, but you couldn’t give less of a shit. No, the reason you want to yell is because of the thrice-damned Kaminoans, those kriffing longnecks who will stop at nothing to further demean ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) you and your brothers. Even now that they’re no longer producing clone troopers, they still view you and your brothers as their property, just as worthless as you ever were.

 _Replaceable,_ you think. _They’re replaceable just as much as we were. They can always make more brothers. More soldiers._ You grit your teeth and swallow the word _expendable_ , as you have done so many times in front of others.

2224 lets you draw your knife across your forearm ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) later that evening.

-

The scab on your forearm pulses with pain when you start doing chin-ups the next morning. You enjoy the discomfort, let it calm your desperate need to _do_ something, to resist what the kriffing chip in your head is doing. 2224 is upset, angry with you ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ), and he takes it out on you by restricting your thinking space until you feel trapped, panicked, forcing memories you’d rather have forgotten to the forefront.

( _Kamino._ ) “Sir?” one of the shinies asks carefully ( _your head is cloudy, the drug is still working_ ). “Are you alright?” 

That’s when ( _he’s holding you down with the Force, you’re biting into the bedsheet to keep from screaming_ ) you realize that 2224’s face is twisted ( _the scar on your face hurts, burns_ ) into a scowl you usually don’t show ( _his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, you can tell he’s going to leave marks_ ), and 2224 has dropped off the bar ( _his second pair of hands spreading your legs open, his deep chuckle reverberating in your skull_ ) and turns to the shiny. “Yeah,” he says ( _his fingers in you, his cock in you, the cold slimy lube on the inside of your legs_ ), “everything’s fine. Now get back to work.”

“Yes sir,” ( _2nd Geonosis._ ) the shiny says, snapping to attention ( _he’s lying there cold and pale and Helix tells you he’ll survive_ ). 2224 stalks over to where some recruits are ( _he’s leaning against you and normally you’d love to be so close to him but right now he’s barely breathing and he’s obviously in pain_ ) lying down, doing stretches.

“Do you really think --” ( _your breath catches in your throat and he’s so still and what if Helix is wrong what if he dies_ ) “--you’re going to have time to stretch before a battle?” 2224 barks ( _his eyes flicker open and you breathe a sigh of relief_ ). “No one is going to wait for you to have a nice lie-down!”

“Yes, sir!” the shinies chorus ( _The Negotiator._ ), scrambling to stand up. “Sorry, sir,” one of them says, and ( _he leans in, you can feel his breath on you_ ) 2224 takes pride in their fear ( _“Cody,” he says, you flinch, “Cody,” he says, you flinch, “Cody,” he says, you flinch, “Cody,” he says, you flinch_ ) of him, enjoys the way you’re now stuck in a feedback loop of memory, and you try not to hate him ( _“Cody,” he says, you flinch, and you drop to your knees and open your mouth_ ). He shoves the slowest shiny hard, causing ( _it hurts, he’s pulling your hair and it hurts_ ) him to fall, and you grit your teeth.

( _Utapau._ ) He kicks the shiny in the ribs, and you hear the ( _it’s like a jackhammer in your head, loud and painful_ ) trooper groan. “Get up,” 2224 snarls. “Get up, you --” ( _you’re screaming soundlessly, watching yourself give the order to fire like you’re having an out-of-body experience_ ) “-- kriffing slacker! You’re going to ruin everything.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the trooper ( _your fists beat helplessly against the walls put up in your own mind_ ) says, flinching away. It reminds you of how scared you’d been of Krell, how ( _he’s dead he’s dead he’s kriffing dead and you killed him_ ) you’d been so fragile after he used you that you’d have ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) done anything any general had wanted without question, regardless of how ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) many brothers would have been put in danger. 

You stop ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) trying not to hate 2224 after you realize that.

-

The first time you try to kill yourself is extremely unsuccessful.

You swallow most of a bottle ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) of painkillers, washed down with more alcohol than you know is advisable. It numbs you, but not enough for it to not hurt when you press the knife to the top of your forearm, just inside the elbow joint. You push, let the knife ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) cut, and the pain feels… good. Better than you’ve felt in a long time. But the drugs and alcohol don’t prevent 2224 from trying to stop you for long, and you abruptly can’t move anymore, either to press down further or to drag the knife down your arm. 

He forces your hand up, until you’re pointing the knife right at your eye. Your hand shakes, partly because you’re not sure if he’s going to make you stab yourself, and partly because you’re fighting him. You stare ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) at the tip of the knife hovering bare inches from your left eye, the one with the scar Krell gave you, and you almost laugh, because it’s fitting, really, that 2224 is the one who’s going to put out that eye for good. 

You don’t laugh, because 2224 is in control of your vocal cords, and if you did laugh it would come out sounding hysterical. You wonder vaguely what he’d do if you stopped fighting him, if he’d ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) kill you himself or if he’d just force you to keep going.

You let him have the arm back. Your hand stops shaking, and you watch yourself put the knife down and bandage the stinging cut on your arm. He stares into the mirror, forcing you to meet your own ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) eyes. You shudder, hating the emptiness there, but you don’t back down. His fingers clench around the cut – _ow_ – but you deserve that.

You let yourself ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) collapse, let him take control over everything. You don’t fight it when he goes to the medic and tells them what happened. He pushes traumatic memories at you again, faster this time, and you hold on and let the images and sensory inputs batter you into silence.

-

The next time you make an attempt to kill yourself, you’re alone in your quarters, tasting the sharp tang of the metal of your ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) blaster, the muzzle pressed hard angled against the roof of your mouth. Your breath rasps in your throat, whistling a little past the blaster. You’re reminded starkly of ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) the way you could hear yourself breathe in the quiet moments right after a battle, when everything is still for a fractional second before the scene explodes into action again.

2224 isn’t pleased. He yanks the blaster out of your mouth with more ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) force than necessary -- you don’t resist this time, because you’re too tired. The metal clacks against your teeth, producing an odd vibrating sensation through your skull. 2224 snarls, face twisted into a deep scowl. He pushes you again, and you push back. Maybe you can tire him out enough to get a real shot at serious self-injury.

You can feel him getting angry. Well, angrier, because to be fair he was already pretty angry with you. You collapse onto the cot, shut your eyes, and curl into yourself like it’s going to prevent 2224 from taking out his anger on a cadet. That’s just about the only way he can hurt you, now, because you welcome physical pain, and any injury to your body is an injury to his as well.

You feel your body stand up, straighten your uniform, dry off your blaster. 2224 is preparing to do something you won’t be pleased with, so you do your best to push yourself into floating away from your body. He reaches out, pulls you back, and everything is all too clear, even slowed down, as he searches out a group of cadets to humiliate.

-

You wake up the next morning with a stabbing pain in your head. You close your eyes immediately. It’s too much, too overwhelming, and all ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) you want to do is throw yourself off a high place. You press your fingers into your temples, bite your lip, clench your jaw, force yourself to sit up, and open your eyes again.

2224 sneers at you. He’s laughing, the bastard, because apparently ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) he doesn’t mind suffering if it makes you hurt too. 

And you ignore him. You push him back, because now _you’re_ angry, angrier than you’ve been ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) in a long time. You’re not going to let him do this to you anymore. You’re stronger than him, you always have been, and for the first time in a long time – in years – you’re not lost.

He twists, yells, slams into your mental block heavily, and you stagger but remain upright. He’s not allowed to leave anymore, not allowed to make _your_ body do anything you ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) don’t want it to.

You bite down laughter, because ( _good soldiers follow orders_ ) laughing alone in a quiet room is probably the craziest thing you could do right now, and instead of laughing to yourself you bring your hand up again.

You silence the chip in your head with a thought and a flick of your wrist, and then it’s partitioned off so you can’t hear it anymore. 

“Good soldiers know when to disobey orders,” you say out loud, and that feels better than anything you’ve done since the chip activated.

The muzzle of the blaster is pressed against your temple. You turn your face skyward, as if you can see the sky from in here, and whisper the closest thing you know to a Mando prayer for forgiveness.

You’re praying to all your dead brothers, to those brothers still living, to your general whether he be alive or dead, to your Mando ancestors, to the Force if it’s listening. You hold the blaster firm, despite 2224’s protests to the contrary, and you revel in the fact that you’re in control of your body.

Your eyes return to the floor, and you take a seat on your cot. For a moment you contemplate writing a note, a final _kriff off_ to the Empire, to the Kaminoans, to Palpatine, to everyone. But you quickly reject that notion -- it’s too risky, could put any of your other brothers at risk.

You close your eyes.

You pull the trigger.

Nothing hurts anymore.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [using all my breath [ARTWORK]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532915) by [Sweven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweven/pseuds/Sweven)




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